


Fruit défendu

by Abidos



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (duh), Alternate Universe, Cannibalism, Character Death, Crossover, Dark, Hannicroft, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:03:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abidos/pseuds/Abidos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has disappeared during a case involving a serial murder who likes to pose his victims and steal their organs.  Mycroft receives an invitation to dinner from an old classmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hanlock AU, "The Men in Suits Meet"](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/24117) by Not-John-Watson. 



> I'm blaming this entirely on Not-John-Watson and http://enigmaticpenguinofdeath.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> Those of you squishy of people eating people, I really don't know what you are doing in anything with the Hannibal tag.
> 
> Also, possible spoilers for Hannibal.

Anyone watching him, as he sat on the backseat of the government car, would not have been able to see the difference between now and any other day, any other car ride.  Only one man would, but he was not available.  He was, in fact, missing.  There was a considerable manhunt afoot, led by the man’s flatmate and best friend.  Said friend would have been appalled to know that the brother of the missing man was en-route to a dinner for which he had only received an invitation this morning.  Of course, Mycroft Holmes was not in the habit of running his schedule by John Watson, so the good doctor was happily unaware of the implications.  Ignorance is bliss.

The invitation was tucked away in his suitcase.  Mycroft did not need to look at it again, he knew it by heart.  Every word, every embossed detail, every little spot where the gold plating had started to flake.  There were a little over two dozen of addresses all over the city from where messages and post was immediately redirected to Mycroft.  That it had come to this particular address meant that it came from Sherlock, that he was unharmed, for now, although there was a good possibility this circumstance would not last.  It also meant his abductor worked alone or in a small group, and was very intelligent and dangerous.

On the seat next to him were several files, most of them with FBI seals on them, there was also the draft of a medical paper on encephalitis.

The car rode up the driveway of an old stately mansion in the outskirts of London.  It stood alone, far removed from the nearest buildings.  Mycroft grabbed his umbrella and left his suitcase.  When he was outside he waited for the car to drive away.  The invitation had specified it was for one person only.

He turned around and, at exactly ten minutes before the specified time, rang the bell.  The doctor himself, impeccably dressed, opened the door.

“Mr. Holmes, so glad you could come.  I was not certain that my message would reach you in time.”  He stepped back to let him in and spread his arm in a welcoming gesture.  Mycroft let his gaze slide over his host, smiled and stepped inside.  Doctor Lecter closed the door behind him.

“I must admit, the invitation was rather abrupt, luckily I had no urgent matters to attend to this evening.”  Mycroft commented as he put his umbrella aside and started to remove his coat.

“I apologise for that, I'm afraid this entire affair is rather rushed, but my hand was forced.  I have spent the entire day in the kitchen, just to make an acceptable diner.  Luckily I already had all the ingredients I needed.”  Hannibal had moved behind him and placed his hands on his shoulders to help him out of it.

“I do hope you didn't put yourself through any unnecessary efforts on my behalf.”

“Please, it is the least.” He bowed to pick up Mycroft’s umbrella and put both items away. “I would not dream of having someone for dinner without the proper preparations.”  He gestured for his guest to walk with him down the hall.  “Particularly when receiving the visit of an old schoolmate.”

“Ah, I didn’t know if you would remember, I confess it took quite some effort on my part to recall any detail about you.”  They both kept their tone light and courteous, their gestures contained and polite, rarely losing the other out of sight.

“Quite understandable, I was but one, among my many classmates, while you were the exchange student from Britain.  You stood out, especially since you were the only one from an English country who spoke French, and did not simply assume we could all understand your native tongue.”

“Nothing more than common courtesy, surely.”

“Perhaps, but even at that age I had already noted that common courtesy is among the least common of human attributes.”

“Sadly true, and irremediable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’ve found there are always some ways to throttle such tendencies.”

They had arrived to a closed door and stood still, silently observing each other, faint smile on their lips.

“Perhaps then, in the name of courtesy, you will now show me to your other guest?”

“Of course”

Hannibal leaned forward and opened the door.  Mycroft stepped into a dimly lighted dining room, dark, thick curtains covering the walls and windows, and in the centre a magnificent table, set for two.  The smell coming from the beautifully presented plates was enticing and Dvořák played in the background.

He looked at his host.  Hannibal smiled.

“Please, have a seat, all will be revealed in due course.”


	2. Chapter 2

The entrée consisted of northern prawn with apple slices soaked in honey-vinegar.   

Mycroft placed his shrimp fork on the plate and took a sip of his wine.

“I admit to have been taken somewhat off-guard, not many can claim to have thwarted my expectations so masterfully.”

Hannibal nodded as he swallowed a piece of apple.

“Was it the setting, the menu, or the host?”

Mycroft paused for a few seconds to observe him, his faint smile never wavering from his mouth.

“It is certainly surprising to find such an estate in the possession of a man who, until two and a half months ago, had never set foot on British soil.”

Hannibal returned the stare and his lips parted, revealing his pointed teeth.

“The house belonged to a patient of mine.  He had many business deals in America and he chose me as his therapist while he stayed there.  After his unfortunate passing, I was surprised to find that he had left me this property.”

Mycroft finished his last shrimp and leaned back in his seat.

“He must have considered himself very fortunate to have known you.”

“So it would seem.  I confess that I did not feel the same way.  While I treated him, I found him to be uncouth and rather revolting.  Even after, I still found his ideas hard to digest.  This inheritance was a final insult to his daughter, of whose life-choices he disapproved.”

“Distasteful.”

Hannibal stood up and began to remove the first course.

“Did they ever discover who killed him?”

The doctor paused as he was reaching for his guest’s plate.  His fingers fluttered over the knifes.

“Regrettably no, the crime was attributed to a serial killer who remains at large.”

Mycroft leaned forward to take his wine glass.

“You seem very well informed, Mr Holmes”

“I try to.” He took a sip and licked his lips.

“It can be a dangerous thing, too much knowledge, don’t you think?”

“I have found that the absence of knowledge is far more threatening.  With understanding comes the possibility of preparation.”

“That is true.”   He finally removed the plates and put them away.  “However, there is one danger the knowledgeable are particularly exposed to.”

“Do tell.”

“Overconfidence.”  Hannibal turned around with a heavy black wine bottle in his hands.  “To accompany the main course, a pinot noir, from Cote de Nuits.”   He poured to glasses.  “The more one knows, the less one believes there to be unknown.  Understanding gets confused with control and one loses the ability to react to the unexpected.  Caution is replaced by certainty.  Such a person would easily fall in a trap.”

“It would seem to me that the remedy to such a situation would be to acquire more knowledge.”

Hannibal inclined his head and revealed the main course.

“Beef tenderloin with pomegranate marinade.”

Mycroft observed the dish with interest as his host returned to his seat.

“Of course, there is also the fact that knowledge can decrease the pleasure one experiences in life.”

Mycroft looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“For example, our dinner.  For many the knowledge of from where and how the raw materials were acquired, particularly the meat, would certainly detract from the enjoyment of the dish.”  The doctor noted casually.

His guest smiled.

“This is not true, in my case.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Confident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language, please feel free to point out any mistakes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Then I hope you enjoy the dish.”

Mycroft looked at the piece of meat on his plate and at the fruit served as a side dish.

“Pomegranate, how symbolic.” He took a sip of his wine. “Said to have been the forbidden fruit offered by the snake to Eva, before the Christians felt the need to demonise the Celt’s sacred apples.”

“The curse of knowledge of good and evil.  God had no choice but to banish them, for how could he tolerate to be subjected to such judgement.”

“Failures exposed?” Mycroft asked as he cut of the first piece of his tenderloin.

“A mask, ripped off, to reveal the putrid ugliness beneath.”

“Knowledge as curse then, that condemns its victims to see the truth.”

“And ignorance is bliss.  To reside in the garden of delights.”

Mycroft took the piece to his mouth but stopped before it could touch his lips.  He lowered his hand and placed it back on the plate.  “But the ignorant cannot create the garden, cannot defend it from the monsters that lurk behind the masks.  Without the holders of knowledge there is no garden for which to be ignorant.”

For just a moment, an annoyed look crossed Hannibal’s face. “But they may not inhabit it.  Much labour for the profit of others.  Better to have no garden then, let all be equal in their misery.”

“Unless, there is pleasure to be had in gardening.”

“And slaying monsters.”

“I have found that, deep down, they are the same thing.”

Hannibal grinned.

“How platonic.”

“ _’This is the very perfection of a man, to find out his own imperfections.’_ ”

“A toast then, to perfection.  And may we uncover our deepest flaws.”

They both drank deeply.  Hannibal watched intently as Mycroft once more directed his attention to his food.  But then his guest paused, his gaze fixed on his plate.

“Something on your mind?”

Mycroft looked up and the corners of his lips curled.

“Pomegranates”

Hannibal looked on as Mycroft scooped up a few of the seeds and ate them.

“I much prefer another myth.”  He swallowed a piece of his own meat. “Persephone and Hades.”

“The virgin, captured.”

“And rescued, yet she could no longer simply return to the world of light, for she had eaten in the land of death.” 

“The seeds of a pomegranate. Condemnation by what one consumes.” Mycroft had, again, taken up the piece of meat and it waited before his mouth.

Hannibal nodded, locking his gaze with his visitor. “Darkness is an infection for which there is no cure.  Once you have accepted it, you can never return to the light.”

Mycroft slightly inclined his head in agreement and ate.  He closed his eyes to taste for a few seconds.

“Perfection.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Now, doctor Lecter, I think we have covered enough pleasantries.  I would like to address the issue of my  brother.”

Hannibal smiled.

“Sherlock.  He came by this morning.  A very rude young man.  Full of accusations and insults.”

“That would be my brother, yes.”

“You have my sympathies.”

Mycroft nodded with a wry grin.

“He has only disappeared this morning, but already you are looking for him.  One might consider that quite overprotective.”

“Indeed, although in light of my brother’s past and present excursions, I feel my behaviour is somewhat more justifiable.”

“You feel responsible for his actions and their consequences.  Even though he is an adult and emphatically refuses your involvement.”

Mycroft looked at him intently.

“It would seem you are not lacking in information yourself, doctor.”

Hannibal grinned.

“I must admit to some astonishment on my part.  He does little but insult and denigrate you.  He completely disregards the consequences his actions may have for you.  And yet, you risk so much for him; your career, your reputation, everything you have spent a lifetime working for.  In return, all he does is push you away.”

His guest’s face had gone carefully blank.

“And you realise it is no act. He truly does not care.  In the past you might have conciliated the idea because he seemed uninterested in anyone’s wellbeing.  Why should you be an exception?  But now it is no longer so.  He cares for the doctor and the housekeeper, even for the detective.  He cares a lot.  He risks his life for them. And as for you, he doesn’t even tolerate your presence.”

Mycroft looked away, not meeting Hannibal’s gaze.

 “Relationships are complicated things, filled with doubt and suspicion.  Not so for your brother and you.  There is no need to wonder if, where you positions reversed, he would do the same.  He is most cavalier with his safety, he would endanger his life for his friends, the answer to a problem or even just to be proven right. Not for you.”

Hannibal stood up and approached Mycroft. He leaned over him to fill his wine glass.

“He is an unbearable ingrate.  Where he to be removed from your life it would be a lot easier, and certainly more pleasurable.”

At that, his guest looked up.

“Our loved ones do not exist for the purpose of making our life easy.  Or pleasurable.”

Hannibal leaned down.

“You love him.”

Mycroft took a sip of wine.

“For my sins.”

“And such dark sins they must be, how deep they must run, that you believe to deserve such treatment.”

Mycroft took a moment to wet his lips.

“As aware as I may be of the value of a session with someone of your prestige, doctor, I did not come here as a patient.”

Hannibal stepped back to his chair with an amused air.

“Please forgive me, occupational habit, I am certain you understand.”

“I cannot say I do.”

“You have no problems, disengaging from your work?”

“I would not know.”

“You are a busy man.”

“Indeed, which is why, at the risk of being discourteous, I must insist.  My brother, now.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair and covered the table and the room with one hand gesture.

“But mister Holmes, your brother has been with us this entire time.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft didn’t move his eyes from the doctor’s face or make a sound.  Even so, Hannibal felt the atmosphere shift, all of Holmes’s attention centring on him.  Being the focus point of such intellect was slightly exhilarating.  He wet his lips while counting the time by the heartbeats in his guest’s throat.

“I am perfectly aware of where my brother is.  Now, if you please.”

Hannibal stood up and walked over to one of the curtains surrounding the room, followed by Mycroft.  He pulled one of them back, revealing a chair-lounge.  Sherlock was draped over it, his eyes closed, a gag in his mouth and his hands and legs immobilised.  Mycroft walked over to him, pulled the gag down and lifted his brother’s head.  Sherlock’s eyes opened slowly, bleary, his pupils blown wide. With some effort he managed to focus on Mycroft.

“Youwe fffat..”

Mycroft sighed.

“Opiates do marvels for your eloquence, little brother.”

Sherlock made some indistinct grumblings.

“I find the insinuations as  to the nature of the main course somewhat distasteful, doctor Lecter.”

“A little payback, mister Holmes, for the invasion of my privacy.”

“You are an American citizen doctor, your right to privacy was abolished several years ago.”

“None the less .”

Mycroft nodded his assent. He threw one last cursory glance over his brother and turned to Hannibal.

“I do believe this is the moment in which you reveal the purpose of this little affair, doctor.”

Hannibal started to answer but was interrupted by Sherlock, who started to mumble and groan unintelligibly and tried to get up unsuccessfully, impeded by his restraints and the drugs.

“My brother abhors not being the centre of attention.  If you wish to have a conversation in anything resembling peace, I suggest you put the gag back in its place.”

Hannibal did so with a faint grin, while Sherlock shoot his sibling blurry glares over his shoulder.  Next, he guided his guest back to the table and handed him his wineglass.

“Your brother is lucky man, mister Holmes.”

“I’m certain he wouldn’t agree with you on that point, doctor.”

“And yet he is.  When initially I perceived the threat that he posed to my freedom I planned to make him into dinner.  His heart or brain, even.  I don’t set much value by the state of his lungs or liver.  Possibly accompanied by something with raspberry.”

“You changed your mind.”

“ _You_ changed my mind.  When I was fortunate enough to see you interact with him.”

“Surely you don’t cancel your plans just for the appearance of an old schoolmate.”

They were standing close, next to the table.  Hannibal traced the embroidery of the cloth idly with his fingers.

“Not just a schoolmate, mister Holmes.  As I mentioned, you left quite an impression.  And it only deepened as I acquainted myself with your habits.”

“I cannot see how.  My life is thoroughly uninteresting, particularly when compared to that of my brother.”

“Perhaps to the common man, my tastes, however, are far from common.”

“So I have noted.”  Mycroft finished his wine. “And so, your new strategy?”

Hannibal took the glass, his finger brushing over that of his guest.

“I have poisoned your brother, mister Holmes.  A vile, slow acting and fatal little concoction.  I’m certain that, unless one knew what to look for, it would go unnoticed in any analysis.  I have the antidote, which has to be administered every twenty-four hours during a period of several weeks.”

Mycroft nodded, resigned.

“And the price of this treatment, doctor?”

“The price for your brother’s life, mister Holmes, is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, confess. How many of you thought I had turned Sherlock into dinner? I want to see a raise of hands.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft swallowed.

“Well, I imagine my lungs and liver to be in a better condition than Sherlock’s.  I fear I’m rather at a disadvantage in regards of the heart.”

Hannibal dismissed the idea with an annoyed wave of his hand.

“Please, I have no interest in you animating my table with anything but conversation.”

“Then what exactly did you have in mind, doctor?”

Hannibal leaned forward and brushed Mycroft’s lapel and shoulder.

“Nothing to uncouth, just your company.  To begin with.”

“It seems to me you have gone through quite some trouble for just some company.”

“Not just any.”

“I am certain there are many more accessible who would provide better entertainment than me.”

“I am not interested in them.”

“Why?”

“They do not have what you have.”

“I am well aware of what I do and do not have, doctor.  None of it makes me good _company_.”

“You underestimate yourself.  You provide the most titillating conversation.”

“Not enough to risk life in prison, or deportation and the death penalty.”

Hannibal had moved slowly closer to Mycroft, who had stepped back until he had hit the table.

“It won’t come to that.”

“You sound very _certain_.”

Hannibal grinned and leaned forward, until his mouth was inches from his guest’s ear.

“I have seen you, mister Holmes, I know what you need.  I can give it to you.”

He pulled back abruptly and walked over to the other side of the table, leaving Mycroft slightly flustered, his brother groaning in the background.  The government official needed but a moment to regain his composure.

“I am certain that, were I to have a need with such urgent demand of being satisfied, I would be aware of it.”

“I never believed for a second that you weren’t, mister Holmes.  But you have been denying yourself.”

Sherlock made a sharp, sceptic hiss, that left little doubt as to what he thought of his brother’s ability to deny himself  anything.  Mycroft shot him an aggravated glare before turning back to Hannibal.

“Explain.”

“I have watched you, mister Holmes.  All poised and  proper, impeccably dressed standing in the background as the world moves on.  Nobody sees you, mister Holmes, and if they do it is no further than the pinstripes, the crisp shirt and the umbrella.  And the smile.  You have an absolutely wonderful smile, mister Holmes, a craftsman’s work if I have ever seen one.  Light, controlled, diverting and completely artificial.  And you use it masterfully.”

Mycroft watched him impassively.

“They trust you, mister Holmes.  They believe you have their best interest at heart and push you out of their mind.  They think that you hide weakness and compassion behind your façade.  They don’t know, what monsters you restrain in the dark.  What would they say if they were told that all you really desire is to rip the skin of their vapid faces, cut out their intestines and feed them to them, insipid, whimpering vermin.  You are a fantastic actor, mister Holmes, I believe sometimes you even manage to deceive yourself.”

Hannibal had moved behind him and Mycroft had to turn his head to look at him.

“But then come the black hours.  When your skin crawls at the idea that such revolting, vulgar, worthless, parasites ooze through life all around you.  Smug, pompous worms, filled with arrogance over their putrid, meaningless little existences.  It comes, mister Holmes, even in your dark club, where no one is to talk; in your solitary mansion, when the air they have breathed poisons your lungs.  Does it make you want to crawl underwater and rub your skin raw and bloody, mister Holmes? Makes you want to throw up, pour acid over your hands, burn?”

Mycroft had looked away, his mouth opened but no words came out and he only shook his head faintly.  Sherlock started to trash in his bounds and protest against his gag, but both men ignored him.

“But you know what to do, in the deep, unconfessed reaches of your soul.  To bathe in their blood, rip out their innards and reveal them to the light.  Force their noses in their own degeneracy so that they can no longer deny their corruption, their depravity.  Your brother protests because he knows this too.   That is the way, is it not?  Those around us see us clearer than we do ourselves.”

Mycroft looked towards Sherlock, his eyes searching for a foothold.  They locked gazes and for a second Sherlock stilled, before starting to fight his restraints even harder. 

Hannibal placed his hands along Mycroft’s jaw and moved his head to face him.

“You know what you are mister Holmes.  You are a monster.”

Mycroft flinched but the doctor didn’t allow him to turn away.

“You are a beautiful monster, dark and sleek, moving just under the surface.  You do not see this yet, but you will, I will show you.  This is my price.   You will come with me, and you will listen.  We will not do a single thing you do not wish, but you will allow me to show you your true nature. How glorious, how overwhelming and devastating you are.  You should not hide in the shadows, you should own them, rule them as you see fit.  I will prove this to you, and you will stand by my side.”


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft was holding his breath. His lips were slightly parted and in his eyes there were equal parts of horror and hunger.  Hannibal moved closer but stopped just a few inches away.  He frowned.

Slowly Mycroft’s posture changed, his back and shoulders straightened and any sign of emotion melted away from his face.  The doctor took a few steps back.

“That is quite enough, Sherlock.”

The noise coming from the chair-lounge stopped immediately.  Mycroft gestured to Hannibal’s chair and they both sat down.

“I fear I have overplayed my hand.”

Mycroft simply smiled.

“You have my respect, doctor.  The praises lauded on your work as a psychologists are clearly well deserved.  A very competent diagnosis, much better than those of the supposed profilers I work with.  And you even lacked one of the most vital pieces of information.”

Hannibal pursed his lips

“Your real profession.”

“Indeed.”

Sherlock appeared behind Mycroft.  He swayed slightly and grabbed his brother’s chair for support.

“Don’t be surprised, doctor.  My brother is an expert escapologist.  As children, whenever he was a bore, I would chain him to the stove with our father’s handcuffs.  He had learned to get out of them by the time he was five.  We engaged in somewhat of an arms  race.  I don’t think there is any form of restraint Sherlock wouldn’t be able to get out off.”

He looked around and caressed his brother’s hand.

“Save, perhaps, nailing his hands and feet to a cross.”

“Hurry up, Mycroft.  I’m not in the mood for your incessant prattling.”

“You must forgive my brother’s sour disposition, he does not take well to anyone insinuating he is ignorant about something.”

“I have known you were a psychopath since I was six.”

“Eleven, brother dear, you have known I am a psychopath since you were eleven.  At six you realised I was a murderer.”

Sherlock let out a non-committed grunt.

Hannibal interlocked his fingers and  leaned back in his chair.

“You have a most interesting relationship.”

“We do, don’t we?”

“I must apologise to your younger brother, there is clearly more to him than meets the eye.”

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Such a pity you were too busy ogling my brother before you decided to poison me.”

“There is no poison, brother dear.”

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at his sibling, then his eyes glazed over for a few seconds.  Finally he looked up at Hannibal and cocked his head, a bored expression on his face.

“He wanted you to murder and eat me. Poison would be counter indicative.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “ I should have realised.”

“I won’t hold it against you, Sherlock.  I’m quite pleased with you having lost any tolerance you had for stupefacients.”

Hannibal spread his hands disarmingly.

“It seems I have been outmanoeuvred most masterfully, my compliments.”

“You were a most excellent adversary, there were a few moments I was quite worried about the outcome.  There is, however, one more matter to clarify.”  Mycroft leaned forward and gestured to the main dish.  “Who is this?”

Hannibal smiled.

“You are very thorough, mister Holmes.”

“Mycroft, please.”

“Then you should call me Hannibal, Mycroft.” He paused to take a sip of wine.  “This is, I suppose, an agent of yours.  A young woman, very pretty, quite rude. Seemed physically unable to take her eyes of her phone.  I was tempted to include it in the recipe.”

Mycroft took his fork and prodded some of the pieces of meat that remained on his plate.

“I was wondering where she had gone.” He speared one slice and swallowed it.  “She makes for a better dish than an assistant.”

Sherlock looked away and Hannibal grinned.

“Sherlock, I do believe it is time for you to go.”  Mycroft stood up and herded his brother to the door.  “On your way out, please notify the SAS team that I won’t be needing their services this evening.”  He pulled out his pocket watch.  “And do hurry and call John,  he must be nearing a cardiac event.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“It would be uncivilized to leave before dessert.”

After some feeble objections Sherlock left.  Both men waited until they heard the front door close.  Mycroft walked back to his chair and sat down.

“So tell me, Hannibal, what more did you have planned for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! yay! This took far to long. I blame Mycroft and Hannibal for wanting to be so smart. It's easy for them, they don't have to come up with the dialogue.
> 
> There are a number of things i want to do in a sequel, including a sex scene but that is going to have to wait, supposing it ever happens.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language. If you see any mistakes, please, feel free to point them out.


End file.
